“Samuel,” his mother said.
Mercy released her and sat back, wiping her red, swollen eyes.
“Mercy and I…well, we’ve been doing a great deal of talking.”
Mercy sniffed and started to laugh. “And crying.”
“Yes, and that,” his mother said.
Joseph cast a worried look at Sam, and poor John Roy just sat on the floor in a stupor-like state.
“Is everythin’ all right?” Sam dared ask.
“Everything is better than all right,” his mother said, eyes brimming. In all his days, he could count on one hand the times he’d witnessed her in tears. “I’ve settled some things with Mercy, and, frankly, I’d like to do the same with you, if that’s all right. I know you just got home, but would you mind sitting down so we can talk?”
Lately, he’d been picking up Joseph from school, taking him home, and then returning to the shop for a few hours. Uncle Clarence would wonder what was keeping him. On the other hand, he’d mentioned that he might call it quits for the day and come in extra early the next morning. Either choice would meet with his uncle’s approval.
“Yes, I could do that.”
“What’s you goin’ t’ talk about?” Joseph asked.
Mercy rose and held her arms out to the curious boy. “Come on, sweetie. Let’s go out to the kitchen and check the cookie jar, shall we?”
“Cookies?” Joseph said, his voice turned chipper.
“If you’d like,” she said, urging him forward and then reaching a hand toward John Roy. “You too, sleepyhead. Let’s hear what your brother did at school today.” She snagged hold of his lazily uplifted hand and tugged him up. Just before the threesome left the room, Mercy slipped Sam a knowing smile, then blew him a kiss, and his world tilted with dizzying pleasure.
***
Flora could not stop the flow of tears. The dam had broken, and it seemed she would never regain control of her emotions. She confessed to Sam the mistakes she’d made while raising him, and then she asked his forgiveness for the mess she’d made of life, for him and for their family. He gave it so readily, a fresh set of tears burst forth, unrelenting and unashamed. His arms around her only made her cry the more, for she couldn’t recall the last time they’d embraced, or when she’d experienced such coursing warmth, relief, and happiness—and all at the same time. Was this the joy of which Mercy had spoken?
“I have never told you what a fine son you were, Samuel—and are—but I’m telling you now.”
“Mother, it’s not necessary.”
“But it is. After the twins died, I neglected you. In my heart, I knew the Lord had spared your life, but something in me felt unworthy to be your mother. If I couldn’t save the twins, how could I possibly be assured of saving you? I knew that if I lost you, too, my heart would stop beating. In some pathetically sick way, I believe I thought that devoting myself wholly to you would be your doom. I had failed to keep two of my sons alive; what was to keep me from failing you, as well? Fear overtook me, and I couldn’t allow myself to love you in the way you deserved. I was too terrified of suffering another great loss. And, oddly, I lost you anyway…not in the physical sense, but in every other way.” She frowned, trying to make sense of her explanation, which was unfolding to her as she gave it utterance. “Your father was not much better, Samuel, so let me apologize for him while I’m at it. I know he loved you, but he didn’t know how to express it. Neither of us did, I’m afraid. But now…now, Samuel, I want to tell you I love you. I do. Oh, Samuel, I do.”
Sam held her close. “Mother, I’ve got a confession o’ my own, and I’m afraid it’ll make you want to take back at least a portion o’ that apology.”
Rather than pull back, she kept her head resting wearily on his broad, hard chest. “What is it?”
“The other day, when I went out to the house to collect the items you wanted, I happened upon the box of things you were carryin’ down from the attic when you fell…specifically, your diary. I’m sorry, but I read bits and pieces of it.”
She was amazed that she didn’t even bristle at the news, but it wasn’t as if she had anything to hide. Her dark secrets were already out in the open. “Did you learn anything new?”
“Not really.” He sounded tentative. Probably afraid of her, poor dear. “Well, one thing.”
She leaned back to study him. “What was that?”
He swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing. “I know you didn’t throw yourself down those stairs. I misunderstood something you said, and it was plain foolish of me to accuse you o’ that. Forgive me?”
“Pfff, there’s nothing to forgive. Lord knows I’ve been guilty of faking illness to gain your attention.”
This drew a good chuckle out of him, but he quickly sobered. “I have another confession.”
She sat up, somehow gathering her strength. “I’m listening.”
“After readin’ your diary, I got down on my knees and confessed my sinful state to the Lord, asked Him to forgive me for not servin’ Him as I should. And you know what? He did. Since that day, I’ve been free from guilt.”
The tears started again. “Oh, Samuel, I need to do the same.”
He smiled. “Well then, what are we waitin’ for?”
Together, they bowed their heads, and Samuel led them in a prayer. She immediately realized her prayer to her heavenly Father had opened up a brand-new world to her—one of sunshine and not gloom, one of hope and not despair, and one of mercy and not blame.
38
Flora returned to her home exactly two weeks after leaving Doc’s office, one full week earlier than he’d advised, but her days of rest and recuperation, not to mention her stubborn resolve and her newfound faith, had done wonders to heal and restore her—physically, as well as emotionally and spiritually. Even Doc had noticed a difference in her countenance when she’d gone in for another evaluation, accompanied by Mercy and Sam. “Flora Connors, I do declare, you’ve gotten younger and prettier, if an old married doctor can be so bold. What’s happened to you?”
She’d smiled. “If you want the truth, I’ve been reborn, Doctor.”
“Is that so?”
“The Lord forgave my sins, of which there were many.”
“Well, I’ll be, Flora. Religion looks good on you.”
“It’s not religion, Doctor; it’s faith in Jesus.”
Mercy didn’t quite know where the good doctor stood with God, but at least he hadn’t disputed Flora’s faith. He’d removed the bandages and announced that the bones were healing nicely, then estimated that complete recovery would require another three to four weeks. Then he’d reset both arms, telling her with a hint of teasing not to even think about carrying something down a staircase. As for housework, he’d issued strict orders not to do anything that would cause strain. “If you feel the slightest twinge, you’re overdoing it,” he’d said, “and you’ll pay later by way of incorrectly healed bones and eventual arthritis.”
After hearing Doc’s assessment, Sam and Mercy had pleaded with Flora to stay with them for the remainder of the recovery period. She’d refused, claiming they needed to concentrate on each other again, that she would rest better in her own surroundings, and that, with Gladys Froeling’s promise of three weekly visits to prepare meals and help with chores, she’d survive just fine. To Sam and Mercy’s utter shock, the unlikely pair had become fast friends. Gladys had even suggested that she and Flora study the Bible and memorize verses together, and Flora had happily accepted the challenge. Why, if ever there’d been a miracle of vast proportions, this was it!
Sam had spoken to his mother several times about the prospect of selling her farm. Before, she’d always balked at the notion, but the last time she’d hedged. “It’s the only house I’ve ever lived in, apart from my childhood home, but I’ll pray about it,” she’d said, adding, “Oh, it feels good to say I’ll pray about it! I’ve never said that before.”
An hour after Sam had raised the subject, she’d broached it again
. “If I were to sell the farm, where would I move?” Sam had suggested she buy something smaller and more manageable, closer to town, convenient for shopping, and Mercy had expressed eagerness in helping her look for a suitable property. Later that day, he’d taken Mercy aside and whispered, “Things may be getting better between my mother and me, but that doesn’t mean I want her livin’ next door, so please don’t look at any houses on our street.” Mercy had laughed so hard, she’d gotten a stitch in her side.
It was a crisp, clear Saturday morning when Sam and Mercy took Flora home. The boys had hugged her good-bye, then gone next door to spend the day with the Hansen boys. When they arrived at the house, Flora inspected every nook and corner, paying special attention to the place where she’d landed at the bottom of the stairs. Not a trace of blood could be seen, and everything stood in perfect order, all thanks to Aunt Gladdie, who’d rounded up a few relatives—her daughter, Amelia; Aunt Aggie; and Mercy’s cousins Wilburta and Frieda—and made sure that not a speck of dust remained. They’d even restocked the pantry shelves and prepared a few small meals, waiting with preparation instructions in the icebox. Flora nearly wept with gratitude.
Her own family had been slow to come around, with the exception of Sam’s aunt Hester, who never had been one for holding grudges. She’d told Flora to be patient, saying the family had been asking about her and would pay a call in due time.
“It’s fine,” Flora had said. “Now that I’m a Christian, I probably need to make a more sincere apology. I don’t think they believed me the first time.” This she’d said somewhat in jest, but Mercy believed she’d make the effort to right things with her relatives. After all, Flora had said, the Connors folk were known for sticking together. If that meant a bigger effort on her part, then so be it.
They hugged Flora good-bye, promising to return in two days. On the ride home, Sam directed Tucker on a detour. “Where are we going?” Mercy asked, pulling her woolen scarf a little tighter around her neck.
He turned to her with a devilish grin. “Have you noticed it’s just the two of us for the first time in three weeks?”
“Mmm, yes, I did notice that. But what does that have to do with the route you’re taking?”
His grin went a little crooked. “Oh, I don’t know, maybe I want to show you somethin’. It’s a little silly, but nonetheless….”
“Silly? I like the sound of that.”
He looped a powerful arm around her shoulders and drew her to him. “That’s because you’re quite experienced in silliness.”
“Hey! Watch it, mister.”
He laughed and took the reins again, and they drove through the Tennessee hills, passing trees just changing from verdant greens to oranges, reds, and yellowish hues. The winds ruffled the boughs, shaking loose more leaves to join the ones already covering the ground like a multicolored quilt.
Soon they bumped along a narrow trail she didn’t recognize. The wagon tipped and swayed, and she had to keep her arm looped around Sam’s to keep from pitching forward. Up ahead, she spotted a small, broken-down shack and a ramshackle barn surrounded by weeds, the land around both seeming completely unkempt.
“What is this place?” she asked.
He pulled the brake, bringing the wagon to a halt, then tossed the reins over the handle. “This, my dear, is where it all began. It’s where my great-grandparents first set up camp when they arrived from England. They bought this big patch of land”—he moved his arm in a semicircle—“and raised a couple o’ kids here, my grandpa Connors, for one.”
Atop the highest peak of the barn roof, an eagle was perched. The bird watched them with big, probing eyes, probably wondering who would dare infringe on his hunting territory.
“How did you find this place? And who owns it now?”
“I’ve known about it since I was just a kid. My father drove me out here once, and somethin’ kept drawin’ me back to it. No one’s lived here for years. Last people who did moved to North Carolina. Whether they still own it is a mystery to me.” A few empty bottles and pieces of garbage strewn about indicated someone used it as a hideout.
“What made your great-grandparents sell?”
“When their family grew, they decided to buy a larger piece o’ property five miles north. Before my great-grandfather died, he deeded the new property over to my grandfather. Your grandfather owned the acreage bordering on my grandfather’s land, and that’s when the dispute took root over where the actual borders lay. I figure if my great-grandfather had never sold this spot o’ land we’re sittin’ on, there never would’ve been a feud. But then, you and I might not have ended up together, either. In fact, our lives would’ve been completely different. It goes back to that verse in Romans about God makin’ everythin’ work out for good to those who love the Lord and are called accordin’ to His purpose. He truly does cause the bad situations in life to turn around for our good when we fully trust Him. I didn’t tell you this, but that day I went to my mother’s to gather up a few items for her, I settled things with the Lord. You were right about the danger of fuelin’ a root of bitterness with fury. I didn’t want that to happen to me, so I surrendered my anger to God.”
Mercy’s soul took wings like an eagle’s. “Oh, Sam, I’m so happy to hear you say that. I knew something had happened to change you. And you’re right—God does work even in the ugliest of circumstances when we trust Him. It took an appalling tragedy—namely, the loss of my best friends—to bring the boys into my life and, through them, you. I never would have dreamed that anything good could come of that catastrophe, but the truth is, I know Millie and Herb would’ve wanted me to raise John Roy and Joseph, and having you to help has made the transition so much sweeter and smoother.”
“So, you don’t regret windin’ up with me?”
“What? No, of course not.” She hesitated. “Do you regret winding up with me?”
He swept his arms around her and kissed her cheek. “Not a chance. Come on, I have somethin’ else to show you.”
“What?”
He jumped off the wagon and reached up for her with outstretched arms. She went into them, delighting in how he lifted her at the waist, whirled her around, and set her down, all as if she weighed nothing. He took her hand and led her through the tall grass. They stopped by a big oak tree, and he gave it a thorough looking over, until he put his finger on a specific spot. “There! See it?”
She stepped in for a closer look and identified an ancient carving—a heart with letters inside. Squinting, she made it out. “It says ‘S. C.,’ and there’s a plus sign under it. It’s not finished.” She looked at Sam. “Sam Connors?”
He nodded. “I was sixteen, and I had a crush on somebody. But it was ridiculous, not to mention impossible, so I left the rest of it blank.”
“Who was the girl?” Curiosity had her mind whirling. “Should I be jealous?” The very notion of him caring for another woman did strange things to her heart.
He laughed. “I told you it was ridiculous—back then, anyway. So, no, you’ve got no reason to be jealous.”
“What made it so ridiculous?”
“The girl. She was only twelve, and quite beyond reach.”
Her head snapped up, and her heart thudded heavily. Could it be? “What are you saying?”
He chuckled and brushed his knuckles over her cheeks. “That girl was you, Mercy. You. I saw you every day when you passed by on your way home from school. You were always walkin’ with some skinny little blonde.”
She sucked in a loud breath. “That was Joy Westfall—you met her at the picnic.”
“Yes, I remember.”
“Oh, my goodness. Surely, you didn’t notice me way back then.”
“I did. You were the prettiest little brunette I’d ever seen. I’d watch you from the window, and, once in a while, I’d even come outside, pretendin’ I needed to make a trip to the outhouse, just so I could feast my eyes a while longer.”
“But, why didn’t you…you know, pursue me
when I got older?”
“Why? Because our families were at such odds. I figured I’d be the last person on earth you’d ever accept a date from, so, why bother even askin’?”
She grimaced. “And when you suggested we marry, I was utterly opposed to it.”
“It took a bit of convincin’.”
“I couldn’t see it workin’ between us, not because of who your family was as much as I couldn’t see myself married to the man whose father shot my pa. Forgive me?”
“No need to, honey. It’s all in the past.” He reached into his back pocket and produced a jackknife. “I think it’s time I finish this carvin’, don’t you?”
“Oh, Sam.” She giggled. “Really?”
“Watch me.”
He leaned against the tree and with great care carved out the letters M.E.C. beneath the plus sign. Once done, they both stood back to admire it. “Let’s come back in ten years and check it again,” she said.
He put an arm around her shoulder and tugged her close. “Sounds like a good plan. We’ll bring the whole family—meanin’ our five or so kids, includin’ John Roy and Joseph, o’ course.”
A tiny gasp escaped her lips, and she angled him a shy glance. “Really?”
He kissed the top of her head. “Yes, really. But, for that to happen, I guess we’d have to do away with our arrangement.”
Her pulse skipped. “Arrangement?”
“It’s a little hard to make kids in a marriage where only kissin’ is allowed.”
“Oh.” Now her pulse did more than skip; it accelerated. She looked up into his eyes.
He cupped her face with his work-roughened hands. “I love you, Mercy. Always have, always will.”
Overwhelmed with emotion, she let a single tear fall untended. “I love you too, Sam, now and forever.”
The murmured declarations made them stare at each other, their gazes still locked like two puzzle pieces. “Come here, brown eyes,” he finally whispered. Like heat lightning, she moved into his warm embrace, their lips meeting in reckless abandon. Crushed together, they kept kissing, until he suddenly broke away and gazed into her eyes with renewed intensity. “We’ll start tonight.”
Heart of Mercy (Tennessee Dreams) Page 31
